


violent delights, violent ends.

by firewlkr



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bisexuality, F/M, Light BDSM, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Office Sex, Polyamory, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Rough Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 16:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18472582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewlkr/pseuds/firewlkr
Summary: "Skinner can admit to himself, a red-blooded military man, that he finds Dana Scully incredibly attractive. She was gorgeous, fiercely intelligent, and lovely. He was stupid to not love her a little.Skinner cannot admit to himself that he finds Mulder just as attractive." Skinner-centric smutty voyeurism powerplay one-shot.





	violent delights, violent ends.

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: I titled this "hell has a place for me" in my docs. good lord.  
> it's my personal headcanon that skinner has the hots for both mulder and scully so this is my little take on that. if this is your kink, you're welcome.  
> tw for rough sex, slight bdsm elements, and potentially non-con voyeurism.

_ I'm the kind to sit up in his room _  
_heartsick and eyes filled up with blue_  
_I don't know who you think you are_  
_but before the night is through_  
_I wanna do bad things with you_

_ bad things - jace everett _

 

He’s been told by his superiors that he needs to maintain a certain distance from those considered subordinate. Don’t go down to them, make them come to you. Make them stand, at attention, thumbs-at-pant-seams feet-shoulder-width-apart, yes sir, no sir. The intricacies of establishing command have been drilled into him from a young, impressionable age in sour tropical heat and oversized fatigues. However with the X-Files and its two agents, everything, even the tradition of command, is turned on its head without his consent or not. It’s starting to piss Skinner off as he steps into the elevator. 

With Agent Scully, not a red-hair out of place, evenly measured neat handwriting decorating her flawless field reports, she respects the position he wants her in, needs her in. Mulder refuses with every wrinkle in his oversized earth-toned button-downs and five o’clock shadow. And in that insidious way of his that is uniquely Mulder, Scully kindled to such rebellion, so he found himself descending the elevator, keeping his back broad and shoulders taught, files in hand, a thrashing of i’s and t’s to cross on his mind. They’d ignored his six phone calls in the past hour, so he’d make them regret it. The elevator dings; bottom floor, sir. Old case files, forgotten and abandoned, are dusty and fill the hall with an odor not unlike an old bookstore. 

Skinner moves through the stacks quickly, thinking about his gym routine after work. He pauses when he hears a noise. Ceramic on carpet, muffled. The squeak of a desk. He holds his breath for a moment. A thump, possibly a filing cabinet, a hiss between teeth in pain. 

Skinner takes no risks and drops the files, flattening himself against the wall. Muscle memory drives his hand to his hip for his weapon; it’s secured in the armory, of course, because wouldn’t the FBI headquarters be the safest place in the world to work? A million different men in black and oozing monsters fill his head as he works his way down the wall. The door is cracked a centimeter; holding his breath, he nudges it with a foot to let it fall open several inches. Skinner moves carefully to glance inside, craning his neck. 

An expanse of pale skin bent over the desk. China blue lace pushed down to expose plump breasts, pale pink nipples taut and wet. Fervent love marks marring the pure flesh. Discarded files and desk ornaments encircle the floor. A mop of brown hair bobbing above her hips. Soft, succulent wet noises, moaning. Taut tan arms encircling flesh, drawing upwards, demanding, pulling.

_Mulder is eating Scully out on the desk._

_Holy fucking shit._

The laundry list of charges flood his mind. Fraternization. Sexual misconduct. Sexual harassment. Sexual assault. Public nudity. Misconduct on duty. Holy fucking shit he’s grabbing her ass with both hands fingers spread wide digging in and she’s making the most incredible noises pale little manicured hand covering swollen pink parted lips…

His cock is fighting against his briefs and he clenches a fist to his teeth. If they know he’s here his choice is made for him; he’ll have to report them. There is absolutely no other course of action if he exposes himself. Lose his two best agents. Testify in some deeply uncomfortable and awkward hearings. The mountain of paperwork. The embarrassment on his record. There’s no “Hey, knock it off,” if they know he’s here.

So he stays quiet, wondering why he hasn’t retreated back up the elevator to the safety of a public bathroom already to deal with the growing issue in his starched pants. Scully is evidently climaxing from the way she’s squirming on the desk, back arched, leg hooked over Mulder’s back. A heel drops to the floor.

He knows why he hasn’t left and the answer sickens him in a way he will never be able to express outloud.

This is the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen.

Skinner can admit to himself, a red-blooded military man, that he finds Dana Scully incredibly attractive. He’d heard tales long before her arrival at his office of her escapades with dramatically older men than her; fantasized more than once, even regularly, of her coming into his office after hours all bedroom eyes and unbuttoned blouse, _“sir I’m so sorry about those reports, I’m oh-so sorry I disobeyed you, please, please let me make it up to you, any way I can… Oh I just can’t help but find you attractive, sir…”_ It ends much as the scene he’s witnessing now, defiling her every which way to Sunday on his desk and taking her home to fuck her thoroughly. Wished desperately Mulder would hurry up and chase her off the X-Files so she could transfer to a position where he could ask her to dinner. She was gorgeous, fiercely intelligent, and lovely. He was stupid to not love her a little.

Skinner can not admit to himself that he finds Mulder just as attractive. 

Lithe muscle and fiery eyes. Careless, reckless passion, misguided and misplaced, rebellious and arching against every rope the FBI wound around his neck so he could hang himself on. When Mulder went on his mutinous tirades Skinner found himself precisely as apt to punch him as kiss him and he couldn’t decide which he’d rather. When Scully would attempt to placate him in his fantasies, Mulder was snarling with his face smashed into Skinner’s desk, moaning as Skinner shoved himself in him, wet and ready, to the hilt. It was angry and hateful and glorious. It grew into enemies with benefits, angry, hate-filled fucks in closets and darkened alleyways. _“Sir, you like this, don’t you? Like fucking Spooky Mulder like this?”_

He’s fucking her now, and well enough by the sounds of it. “Shhhh, baby… god you feel so fucking good,” Mulder hisses, barely perceptible over the rumble of the AC unit. Scully’s whimpers are soft and muffled, ending on squeaks and hitches. 

Perhaps he had been unimaginative; his fantasies always starred him and either one of them monogamous affairs, never both. Both would have been too much; both would have destroyed him, just as it is now, fist pressed to his teeth, the other one balled at his side, heart hammering staccato in his throat. It’s wrong to let them go on like this, getting off on fucking at work on government payroll; it’s worthy of damnation to let it fuel your own sick fantasies about your goddamn subordinates. He wants to burst in and demand he’ll rat them out unless they fuck him too. His stomach wrenches at how deplorable it is to consider such a thing. Would they? 

He wills his muscles to move for the sanctuary of the elevator door; they won’t, stock-still and solid against the wall as his mind races. _They’re both on their knees, taking him in their mouths in turn; Scully’s mouth is white-hot and silky, Mulder’s is sandpapery and scrapping teeth. Scully’s touch has all the feminine niceties while Mulder knows exactly what he wants. Which is better, they ask him, evil as sin, smiling at him. One was enough; the both of them with their electric chemistry was going to kill him. They’re tireless and infinitely imaginative in their loveplay and when he tires of them they turn on each other, beautiful and in love and pure sexuality._

He’s coming in her now, teeth buried in her throat, vampiric and lustful, a hand covering her face as he recklessly groans into her flesh. Time to go, Skinner. Get the ever-loving fuck out of here. Show’s over, kid. He does, shameful and guilty, struggling to cast his mind on baseball and icebergs and his sweet old grandmother as he ignores the flagrant pain in his groin. 

He leaves the file on the ground where they’d fallen; they’ll figure it out. Give them something to think about. Did he know? Did he see them? Would he report them? Scully will tell Mulder to be more careful, that they can’t do this here anymore. Maybe it’ll torture them for a while. Good. They deserve it. 

He has more than enough to think on. 


End file.
